


Going Off the Curriculum

by bigscarythings



Category: Magia Record: Puella Magi Madoka Magica Side Story
Genre: Desk Sex, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Found Family, Kink Exploration, Post-Arc 1, Roleplay, Romance, School Uniforms, Senpai-Kouhai Relationship, Tribadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:34:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26828209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigscarythings/pseuds/bigscarythings
Summary: At the end of a long and trying summer, Iroha makes a chance discovery in Yachiyo’s closet. She soon frees up a few new secrets from Yachiyo - and, of course, gives them both what they want in the process.
Relationships: Nanami Yachiyo/Tamaki Iroha
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	Going Off the Curriculum

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [AlexanderSpeedwagon](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/AlexanderSpeedwagon) and [TheOneandOnly1993](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/TheOneandOnly1993) for inspiring this fic and their extensive feedback on my drafts. I can't thank them enough for making this story into something I’m happy with. Please check out their fics if you haven’t already, like Fiery Tempers or What is Love - they’re fantastic! It ended up being a funny coincidence that the most recent JP event brought back the school uniform look for Yachiyo (though long-haired Yachiyo is still where it’s at), which spurred me to get this finished in record time. It was so much fun to write, and I hope you enjoy reading it, too. ~~and stay tuned for the iroyachi teacher/student roleplay sequel~~

Summer had rolled through long and languid in Kamihama. Their vacation hadn’t been much of one: whatever time off Iroha had was siphoned into their work with the Union, or whisked away across many incidents, from the trial to Ui’s harrowing adventures. (Madoka easily had the more joyful summer between the two of them, though Iroha had noted the way Homura went terribly quiet while Madoka cheerily relayed the sleepwalking incident.) Even today, after school had at last lugged itself through its final hour, and she’d finished with her homework and helped Ui with her essay, Kanagi decided that it was the perfect time to call Iroha and Yachiyo and have their attention for another hour still. Finally, finally, they hung up on the call, only for her stomach to pang.

“Who’s supposed to make dinner?” Iroha wracked her memory. Sana had been getting the hang of the kitchen, and Ui was taking a strong interest in helping her, too; they took over yesterday. Leftovers had been the day before that, and Iroha’s turn before that, which meant–

“Mine.” Yachiyo grimaced with the same realization.

“No, I’ll do it,” Iroha said, grabbing Yachiyo’s hand before she stood up, “you had a test today–”

“That’s nothing.”

“You’re tired. Yachiyo, it’s obvious.”

“You are, too.”

She and Yachiyo locked eyes. As tempting as it was to kiss her and see some of that tension leave Yachiyo’s countenance, she didn’t want to back down. The problem was that Yachiyo didn’t, either. And so:

“How do you guys feel about Banbanzai tonight?”

Whatever pitiful objections Sana might have voiced were crushed under the roaring.

“Yes!” Felicia shot up from where the couch had hidden her, and she swung a high five into Tsuruno’s palm. “Told ya!”

“Kanagi needs to call more often!” Tsuruno cheered.

From atop the couch Mokyu fired a fast succession of chirps, which Iroha vaguely understood as _oh no look out_ just as her eyes flicked to the TV– 

Sana’s character blocked Ui’s from the monster’s laser, but the same could not be said for Tsuruno and Felicia’s. They flew off to god-knew-where, and the shouting turned cranky - “Hey, he can’t do that!”

“Jump!”

Ui stammered, “Why am I on the monster’s back, what do I do–”

“Just keep attacking it! There, that’s it!” Sana said, with the same grit she had during witch hunts. “Okay, hold the ammo button–”

“Yeah! Bada-BOOM, you’re beating him!” Felicia swooped down, probably back to Ui’s side.

“I’ll bring dinner home after we beat this guy,” Tsuruno called, before yelling, “Felicia, now!”

Part of her needed to sit with them and watch the festivities, but Felicia had just been starting to feel stable enough to open her guarded heart to Ui. While Iroha still ensured everyone in Mikazuki got time all together, letting them spend time with each other without Iroha or Yachiyo’s presence had led to situations like these, with everyone working together and the manor ringing with their antics. Ui had been wanting more independence, too, even - especially? - after the deserted island incident. It took a careful hand to not overreach, as much as it made Iroha anxious. Her eye fell on Mokyu, who couldn’t peel away from the action, his head zipping in every direction to keep up with the plot - fight? Iroha couldn’t tell. She didn’t blame him, though; she only turned away when she heard the creaking of Yachiyo’s chair.

“I don’t like this.” Yachiyo helped Iroha to her feet, too. “The stories about the former Feathers, I mean.”

“We can’t expect everyone to change their mind right away,” Iroha said, following Yachiyo upstairs. “They’d been with the Magius for a year. For many of them it was the first real home they’d had since becoming a magical girl - or in their lives, even.”

“They’re going to start something. Touka’s stunts have surely emboldened them.”

“Yachiyo–”

Yachiyo’s palm flattened against the door to her room. She squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds before speaking. “It’s not exactly a crisis. Can we think more on this tomorrow?”

Suddenly the weight of the day landed on her shoulders. “Yes. Let’s do that.”

Some of that weight fell off simply by closing the door behind them. The evening was still bright enough to illuminate it without any other lights, casting a familiar glow on the desk she often found Yachiyo hunched over. It was Yachiyo’s room, even now, but there were things that made Iroha feel like it was becoming their room, like the way Yachiyo didn't clean the desk for when Iroha came in, or like the glass kept by Iroha's bedside, cleaned and glinting in the sunlight, a desire as much as it was a promise.

“I didn’t think you’d follow me in,” Yachiyo said, eyes wide.

It had been a few days since they’d been there together. “Ui was a bit surprised when she woke up alone the other night.” Iroha sat at the edge of the bed - just big enough for them both - and loosened the latz out of her shirt to cool her collar. “She asked me and I had to come up with some kind of excuse. I told her I couldn’t sleep–”

“Well, you couldn’t.”

“Yes,” Iroha groused for a hot second, before her heart ached at her next thought. “But, still. She really doesn’t like being alone.” It wasn’t like Yachiyo handled loneliness well, either. For Ui, however, she couldn’t help but think it must have felt like being inside of Eve again, or nights in the hospital when Touka and Nemu weren’t there.

“I see,” Yachiyo said softly. “Don’t worry about me, all right? Ui needs to come first.”

Still some part of her nagged her to go down and keep an eye on Ui, even when she rationally knew Ui would be okay, that Ui needed time with just her and her friends. “Absolutely,” she said. But that wasn’t quite it, was it? Her throat was dry but Yachiyo waited patiently for her answer. 

She loved Ui. She loved Yachiyo. That was precisely why this was all so confusing. 

“It’s just…” Every word took a lot out of her. “I know it’s wrong, but...I can’t stop myself from wanting to spend time with you.” 

Admitting that out loud stung even more than it did when she thought it. She loved Sana, Felicia, and Tsuruno, and she loved Yachiyo in a different way - and she’d never thought someone else’s happiness would come anywhere close to as crucial to her as Ui’s. 

“You don’t have to, but…” Yachiyo lifted her head with a smile. That alone was enough to subside some of the guilt tangled in Iroha’s gut. “Thank you.”

At some point, they’d have to explain their relationship to the others, how it went from ‘indescribable’ to knowing that, all this time, it was love. She hoped it would make it easier on all of them. The nagging feeling did relent, and right now, as selfish as it was, all Iroha wanted to do was look into Yachiyo’s eyes. Yachiyo seemed to feel the same, too - her smile seemed almost shy - but eventually gave into business. “Would you like the bath first?” She gestured at the discarded latz.

“You go,” Iroha said. “But do you mind if I stay in here?”

“You can, but are you sure?”

She was. Downstairs seemed to be a four-player game, anyway, and even if Tsuruno had gone out, Iroha knew she’d botch the hunt for the other girls. And there was something to these quiet minutes with Yachiyo, even when it was just the two of them doing homework, silent but pleasantly in each other’s company. She didn’t know what exactly it was. She didn’t realize how whole and complete silence could be before she met Yachiyo.

“I’ll grab your pajamas,” Iroha said, getting up to head into the closet, and Yachiyo made an appreciative hum.

It had all the makings of a gentle evening up until that moment. She reached her arms between the coathangers to find the drawers when she noticed something very, very familiar - and yet very, very new. “Hey! You still have your school uniform?”

Yachiyo had just sloughed off her shirt when Iroha came out with the uniform’s hanger hooked into one hand, and the pajamas tucked in her other arm. “Oh. Yes, I do.”

Iroha tossed the pajamas on the bed and held the uniform in front of her, matching it to her own from the ribbon to the stockings, bundled on a makeshift hook over the skirt. “It’s still the same.”

“It wasn’t _that_ long ago.”

“That’s exactly it, though!” She backed up and held it in front of Yachiyo. “How does it look on you? Does it still fit?” _You never show us photos from when you were in school_ , she almost blurted out, before Kanae and Mel abruptly cut into her memory, making her blood run cold.

“It’s associated with a lot of memories,” Yachiyo said just as Iroha tried to apologize. “We should put that back.”

There had been a hint of unmistakable fondness in her voice, even if her expression was neutral. Iroha lowered the uniform and watched her for a second, the way the tightness she often carried in her shoulders had eased. Then she decided on her next words. “I think,” she said carefully, “it would look good on you.”

That gave Yachiyo pause in rolling off her jeans. “I model for a living, not for a hobby.”

“Please? I’ll get everything for the bath ready if you do.”

“You weren’t going to do that anyway?”

“I’ll make it perfect.”

Indeed, Iroha made everything flawlessly organized, from Felicia’s tote to the scrubs and lotions in the shower. She set out the bubbly soap that Yachiyo treated herself to, hoping it would signal Yachiyo to take her time. Still, Iroha had the feeling she’d have to make that explicit to her, too. She returned to Yachiyo’s room to do so, and the moment the door clicked shut, Yachiyo glanced back as she freed her hair from the blouse and scarf.

The sight put an odd flutter in Iroha’s chest. It was different. Well, not exactly different. It was more that Yachiyo could put on anything and transform it into high fashion. Thousands of girls wore that same uniform and none of them like her; the starched-up blouse was pristine and white and the red seemed even more vibrant and alive than the sky did in that moment, accentuating the curve of her wide hips. 

It still felt strange to say Yachiyo was hers - she was older than her, more beautiful than her, wiser, stronger. Yachiyo modeled for a living, yes, and that meant people staring at her - but suddenly she seemed jittery under Iroha’s stare, like she truly was a teenager all over again. 

Still, Yachiyo was the one who broke the silence. “I didn’t think it would still fit. I guess it really hasn’t been that long since high school.”

“I didn’t actually expect you to put it on.”

“Well, you make it very hard to say no.”

It was _different_ for some reason. Maybe it wasn’t the uniform itself, but how it changed Yachiyo. Every time she looked over her shoulder, her gaze shot right back to the mirror. She looked a little less certain of herself, but why? The uniform suited Yachiyo, after all. Iroha didn’t know the first thing about fashion, but maybe it was something about the contrast and similarities between her dark hair and the red skirt and the black stockings? She wore it differently from girls like Momoko or Tsuruno. Maybe it was just that unknown factor that made Yachiyo a model and Momoko and Tsuruno not. Or it was because she looked younger, somehow? Like this was a classroom, the end of the day, the end of school; a girl longing for an older student, who was cold to many, but abruptly caught with her shields down. 

She didn’t know why she was so enraptured, but she knew, for certain, that Yachiyo was beautiful.

“Well,” Yachiyo said, “I should wash this. It’s time for my bath.”

“Thanks for playing along,” Iroha said, and with that classroom image in her mind, she couldn’t resist adding, “senpai.”

Yachiyo stiffened, her fingers clutching the ribbon she’d been about to tug off.

“I was just kidding–”

“Say it again.”

The look on Yachiyo’s face had barely changed. Iroha approached her, wrapped her arms around her. She eyed the desk, and pushed her forehead into Yachiyo’s shoulder. “Senpai.” The gap between them was closed. It had been closed. But still her imagination wandered. “Did you ever want love like that?”

“I’ve had crushes when I was younger. Small things. I didn’t even know what to do with them. It was ridiculous.”

“I don’t think it’s ridiculous.”

Yachiyo didn’t seem quite content in her skin, though. Her mouth was open, just a little bit, enough for her to breathe through. Iroha slid her thumb into the clavicle under Yachiyo’s latz, felt her quickened pulse - Yachiyo was tense, but did not resist.

It all clicked. Iroha had been contemplating one thing, Iroha realized with a grin. Yachiyo, clearly, another.

She pulled Yachiyo around and locked their lips. It took a second for Yachiyo to catch on, and Iroha backed them both away, towards the window, onto the desk.

She remembered when they were still learning each other’s bodies. Yachiyo, for their first few times, would hesitantly nip at Iroha’s earlobe; it took Iroha a shamefully long time before it struck her like a ten-ton stone to do the same with Yachiyo’s - and now, tracing her lips up Yachiyo’s cheek, she bit into the meat of her ear and made Yachiyo groan and tighten in delicious ways, her fingers latching onto Iroha’s shoulders.

“You really work hard, don’t you, senpai?” Iroha murmured, still playing at her earlobe with her tongue. “Please tell me if there’s anything I can do to help you.” She pulled away and bumped their noses. “I mean _anything._ ”

There was something to the romance novels Mifuyu traded with Iroha: a girl desperately in love and not yet knowing the extent to which she could drown in it; a senpai ensnaring her and having her beyond anything she could imagine; and the meaning of and the threat within _anything_ irrevocably changed. Yachiyo, however, had distinctly not read those same books. There was nothing forceful in that kiss, nothing smoldering - just Yachiyo resting her face against Iroha’s like she was in prayer. Her body was still wound up - from nerves? - as her hand slid down below Iroha’s collar and opened the first button on Iroha’s shirt. And then did absolutely nothing.

Yachiyo wasn’t much of a blusher. But when she did, like she was now…

Her hand did, after a while, drop to the second button, but Iroha pulled it away. “I think we should keep these on,” her voice still shy but now a bit too wry to belong to a truly innocent schoolgirl. “In case a teacher walks by.”

Yachiyo’s eyes shot back to Iroha’s, just a little bit wide. “You, you don’t have to - the laundry, we just did it, I...”

Yachiyo was always so gentle, but never so hesitant, so scared. Likewise, the newness of it all shot lightning through Iroha’s veins, terrifying as it was enthralling. This experiment was as new and overwhelming for Iroha as it was for Yachiyo, but seeing the look on Yachiyo’s face, she was more than willing to try. 

“Senpai.” Iroha took her face between her hands, and made each word firm and deliberate. “You’re going to kiss me, and you’re going to touch me. You’re going to make me feel really, really good. No matter what you do.” She pursed her lips, and added, “I’ve been waiting for this for a very long time.”

_Please give yourself what you want,_ she almost said. But she didn’t need to. Yachiyo leaned in and kissed her with their mouths open, lips moving against each other, warm and familiar and home. She wanted her tongue against Yachiyo’s and to melt into her, and yet - and yet it was still oddly chaste. Yachiyo’s hands weren’t moving; one held Iroha’s waist and the other was on her cheek. 

So Iroha made her desire known. Her arms wrapped around Yachiyo’s head and pulled her into something long and tangled and wet, and Yachiyo finally gave in and indulged herself. Her fingers buried into Iroha’s shoulders like a massage, the fabric shifting under her palm, and in seconds Iroha couldn’t notice the gentle movement of Yachiyo’s tongue in her mouth for how Yachiyo rubbed the stocking above her knee–

Iroha moaned as Yachiyo’s thumb played and dipped underneath the sock but didn’t dare to remove it. Was it always tempting her? Had it always been driving her insane? Was it with everyone or was it just Iroha? She couldn’t think of answers as Yachiyo’s hand slid into her skirt and Iroha had to stop kissing for a few seconds, breathing against Yachiyo’s mouth.

“You were always beautiful, senpai.” That made Yachiyo’s hand slide even further up her thigh. “We all think so. But I...didn’t realize how beautiful the uniform looked until now.”

Yachiyo swallowed. “After I met you, I...I always did.”

Iroha pressed a smile against her chin, then pulled away and hoped she looked as cheeky as she felt. “Really? Then show me.”

She didn’t even get the chance to breathe. With a swift yank Yachiyo slammed against her, a breathless kiss, gripping and kneading her rear with both hands - there was barely anything there compared to other girls, but Yachiyo certainly made her feel otherwise. Especially now, her fingers folding against what soft skin there was - and somehow she felt it through her skirt, she fuzzily realized before Yachiyo insisted on a deeper kiss.

With one arm Iroha pulled Yachiyo in tighter, pushing their chests together, squished her hand between them to run her fingers on Yachiyo’s breast, soft and enthralling even through the layers of her bra and blouse and undershirt winding and wrinkling underneath her grip. Yachiyo’s hands matched her own in their insistence, the firm grind of Yachiyo’s fingers on her rear and the hard surface of the desk made the jolts of pleasure turn into a deep, constant anchor between her legs. 

Yachiyo’s nipple came erect and Iroha pinched it, forcing Yachiyo to break their sloppy kiss with squeaky gasps. Iroha alone was the one saw Yachiyo breaking down; she was normally _so_ put together and that shot straight between her legs– 

She needed contact. She needed it but even though Yachiyo’s hands were fully grasping all over Iroha now, it wasn’t enough. Yachiyo wasn’t daring to blemish her uniform, even though Iroha knew it was a mess and felt sweat sticking her shirt to her skin, even though Yachiyo was willing to undo everything else from her braid to the unblemished skin on Iroha’s neck and clavicle. And somehow it was the denial of it all that made her utterly wet.

Her breasts insisted on rocking against Yachiyo’s, hot and pinched stiff and she realized she could just tell Yachiyo to do it. She had that kind of power over her. Understood what pull Mifuyu had when she returned to Mikazuki Villa months and months ago. Yachiyo’s hands blessedly returned underneath her skirt and gripped and pulled Iroha’s hips into a sharp, bony impact but it was not enough. It was impossible for Yachiyo not to know, not to sense it - all Iroha could say against her lips was a tiny “Please.”

“All right,” Yachiyo said immediately.

Yachiyo backed off just enough to let Iroha shuck off her underwear, bracing her hands on the desk. Her reverent stare made Iroha’s skin prickle with anticipation as she watched the panties edge down Iroha’s squirming legs. Her breasts and neck and inside of her were achier than ever, and the full, naked contact she kept imagining demanded she take off her skirt, too. But she kept it on. She had to. Yachiyo seemed to realize this too and clenched her hands tighter.

“Senpai,” Iroha tried again, in a marvel of keeping her voice even, “make me come with your mouth.”

For a second she wondered if she should have rephrased that, even though it sure seemed like they’d flung far away from the “virginal schoolgirl” idea. Her doubt vanished against Yachiyo’s kiss, those few seconds of her lips, before Iroha watched her sink to her knees. 

It was strange not to see Yachiyo’s face. Not to see her peeking up to evaluate Iroha’s pleasure, and for approval, always, no matter what. Even if some memory had been unearthed that made Yachiyo go quiet for hours, or if they’d squabbled that day. It was strange to only have the outline of Yachiyo’s head and her warm breath spreading against her vulva, but it was perfectly welcome once the wet stripe of Yachiyo’s tongue rolled up her slit, kindling the thrill of having no idea what was going to happen next.

She didn’t need to be warmed up but Yachiyo went slow anyway; Iroha felt the gentle dab parting through her lower lips, the brush of Yachiyo’s mouth down her tender slit even as Iroha somehow spread her legs even wider. Agonizing as it was Yachiyo went faster once she got the first taste of Iroha’s slick, and Iroha felt herself clenching and begging even more, and finally got the full flat length of Yachiyo’s tongue blazing up and then– 

Iroha slammed her hands behind her and threw her head back with a gasp, hips thrusting on their own and high sounds coursing through her throat as the kneading wet suck of Yachiyo’s lips and tongue. They eagerly plied through Iroha’s folds and clit, like how Yachiyo could easily open any other part of her. She suddenly had the image of her classroom and her desk and Yachiyo doing this _there_ and it made her double over and grasp Yachiyo’s head against her cunt, that same instant Yachiyo’s tongue speared inside her. It entrenched itself, and Iroha’s muscles pulsed and clenched around that insistent, twisting length, trying to keep it inside, trying to make Yachiyo a part of her.

Anything. She’d take anything. Her fingers buried into the fabric around Yachiyo’s head as her whole body bound itself around her as best as it could, beyond her control. She couldn’t distinguish Yachiyo and her tongue for the pleasure surging through her, all the happiness in her life, every good thing she had done for her. 

So the instant Yachiyo moved to pull back, panic blitzed through Iroha’s skull and she wrested Yachiyo solidly against her. It startled even her, made her stomach turn, but that dissipated as Yachiyo moaned and burrowed herself even further inside, tongue firmly lapping against her walls. She was perfect, was all Iroha could think as her thoughts crumbled, she was hers - and after just seconds, there was a familiar rhythm to Yachiyo’s mouth as it moved up and down on her labia. Through blurred eyes Iroha saw where Yachiyo’s other arm had gone, underneath her own skirt and Yachiyo’s body bouncing with her face, Yachiyo exhaling weak moans into Iroha– 

There was the vague, dark notion of teasing Yachiyo or even scolding her for it; Yachiyo having to keep her hands on Iroha’s thigh and getting more sloppy or desperate or even begging and sobbing - getting to see Yachiyo _completely_ undone - but Yachiyo’s tongue thrusted up at just the right, tight angle, and dashed away the image, gone with the cry out of Iroha’s lungs blown against her skirt and her lover’s scalp. Yachiyo was pleasing herself, needing herself, and so desperate to please all of Iroha, and with those thoughts taking hold of her, after just a few thrusts and furious rubs against her aching clit, Iroha clenched hard and came with a strangled sound.

Yachiyo persisted through long, undulating waves, long after Iroha’s grip went slack. Yachiyo cleaned her off and remained where she was, her hot gasps becoming even, until Iroha felt stable enough to sit back up.

It barely lasted. Iroha and the heat between her legs erupted for more of Yachiyo - Yachiyo, who was always there for her, who had fully occupied a chamber in Iroha’s heart. Yachiyo came up with a cute damp spot on her nose and come smeared on her lips. “Iroha, can I–”

“Yes.”

Iroha found the strength to maneuver herself on her knees - they would protest this hard surface but that was what healing magic was for - and bound her arms around Yachiyo as Yachiyo slid her hands underneath her. Yachiyo found plenty of come to spread around and with it, immersed herself into Iroha with two fingers, and among the rush of gratitude Iroha felt relief. The other hand, cupping and rubbing Iroha’s ass, was dry - Iroha buried her face into Yachiyo’s shoulder at the realization, took in the unplaceable but clean scent of the fabric. And Yachiyo.

“Yachiyo - senpai–”

“You’re okay with this?”

“Yes, I am.” She nodded, burrowing herself deeper. “Go ahead.”

Yachiyo’s return was enthusiastically welcomed by Iroha and every muscle in her, and the stretch of her fingers made her more full than pained. The curve of Yachiyo’s fingers shoved into that inner spot more firmly and made Iroha grit her teeth, vision flashing like suns crashing in her, seconds before her hips crashed into Yachiyo’s with a swift yank and a tight thrust. She hammered herself on Yachiyo, panting, moaning wetly, thrashing when she Yachiyo pressed against her rutting clit - making an awful mess of Yachiyo’s shoulder, which was well-deserved when she was making such a mess of Iroha.

Yachiyo was so hot. So warm. Heat tightened in her and her pussy selfishly clung to Yachiyo’s fingers and urged for a different angle, but she wanted all of her for a little longer, Yachiyo all against her body, the rocking and grinding of her hips, the dutiful rhythm, the one Yachiyo used on herself. She clung to it, all of it, making noises for Yachiyo until the pleasure and pressure overrode everything but Yachiyo’s fingers and her need for more, for longer, for _her._

“Now–” She struck her fist against Yachiyo’s back– “Ah–”

The fingers twisted inside of her with the rest of her body as Iroha found herself lowered onto her side, Yachiyo wiping the hair out of her eyes and off her overheated neck. Things thunked and clattered and Iroha didn’t know what, didn’t care, as Yachiyo lifted her leg over her shoulder, her skirt bunching around her waist - Iroha was so wide open. Yachiyo gave Iroha just enough time to make one arm a pillow and make the other hand grasp the edge of the desk, and then with a flick of her wrist she pounded away.

That deathgrip on the wood was her lifeline keeping her from falling off the desk. The angle - she didn’t know what it was but it just made everything light up, her voice cracked and high and pleasure shocking up through to the back of her skull. Yachiyo gripped her leg and fucked her, the rapid friction of the desk and the clothes setting Iroha’s skin alight as she bucked up against every thrust, wondered if all this pleasure was really just her body or if it was because of _Yachiyo,_ wanting more of Yachiyo, needing more of Yachiyo– Her muscles strained, and soon, and soon, and soon, she–

She came, wheezing for air. Yachiyo, without being told, obediently kept going - the good senpai she was - at different angles to push out every shudder and rush of slick from Iroha, until it spilled all over her thigh and the desk. Yachiyo still held her open, kissing her leg, pushing it against her face, until the stretch suddenly felt like too much and she eased her legs back shut, fell onto her back, still breathing. A hand stroked up and down her side - her blouse was practically her second skin now; the touch brought little sparks to her like it had been bare contact. God, what student would look like _this_ for her senpai? 

Iroha, of course. For Yachiyo, who loved her, whose faith in her was unshakeable, she would do anything.

“Iroha,” Yachiyo said, her voice tight and urgent, “can we–”

“Please,” was all Iroha could manage.

Yachiyo scooped her into her arms. There were a few moments of weightlessness before Iroha sunk into the bed. She cracked open her eyes when she felt Yachiyo’s weight. Up until that second, she hadn’t understood the appeal of stockings. The black fabric made her legs look shapely and somehow even longer, made Iroha fret her lower lip, especially as the panties rolled out of her skirt, too. It was not fair that Yachiyo was the one whose uniform remained intact. Despite all the touching, the wrinkles hadn’t remained, but Yachiyo’s blush and hazy eyes betrayed everything.

Iroha rolled onto her back, kicking one leg back for Yachiyo as she pressed in and folded her legs against Iroha’s. Perfectly slotted. She lingered, waited, for Iroha to finish coming to her senses. Even after Iroha urged her, Yachiyo only leaned over, pinning her hands on either side of Iroha’s head. She swallowed, braced herself - but the gravity of the stern look on Yachiyo’s face felt off-kilter with the situation they were in and Iroha burst into giggles.

“What,” Yachiyo stammered, “what is it?”

“I don’t know!” Iroha was completely sincere. “It’s like...kabedon but against a bed, and we’re about to…”

Yachiyo relaxed. “I do this every time, though.”

“It feels different somehow. With the uniforms, it’s almost exactly like one of those school romance manga.”

Yachiyo didn’t look strained anymore. She did, however, look like staring at something distant. Before Iroha could process that, Yachiyo carefully lowered herself onto Iroha, arms sliding under back into an embrace. She pressed her face into Iroha’s neck for moments of silence.

“I wish you had been there,” she said after what felt like a long time. “If it had been you - you, and the rest of us, when Mel - even if Mel had died, I think you…”

“What?” Iroha asked gently.

“You would have convinced me otherwise.”

Yachiyo was dancing around it still, but Iroha thought she got the gist of it. “Do you often think about that?”

“Not in those terms. I just realized it now.”

Iroha smiled and turned her head to properly kiss Yachiyo. It wasn’t their first time, that, of course, had been some time ago, but something about the atmosphere, the setting light still spilling into the room, the look on Yachiyo’s face, made it feel like it was a new beginning all over again. 

“In the Memory Museum–” Yachiyo still flinched whenever someone brought it up– “–in the dream Mifuyu showed me, it felt like I was there with you, by your side from the start. I didn’t question it once. Even after I woke up, it didn’t feel strange.” Yachiyo’s fantasy couldn’t possibly have been as simple as she wanted it to be, but still, Iroha took her closer against her face. “I’m here now. I love you.”

Yachiyo always tensed when Iroha said it, like someone was going to steal it from her right afterwards - but in a second she relaxed and closed the gap and kissed Iroha, too.

It was soft, sweet, but the sudden intimate touch made heat spike up again and forced a little squirm. Iroha pulled back for Yachiyo to lift herself up again, but grabbed her cheeks before she pulled back: “Senpai, give me everything.”

Wordlessly but fast Yachiyo sat upright and squirmed to fix them both up, straddling one leg outside of Iroha’s and adjusting their skirts, and Iroha kicked up the other against Yachiyo’s back to ensure they were in the right place. For Yachiyo’s sake, that was. Iroha knew it was right, though, with that familiar the meshing of their hot and soaked skin. Yachiyo moved her hips in a slow circle that made their vulvas slide. Iroha’s clit throbbed against the enveloping warmth and it was almost what she needed. It just took Yachiyo squeezing her fingers between them and spreading their labia to give her that last push.

At that point just the rubbing of the vulvas would have been enough for Iroha. Adding the slide of their clits made it pure electricity and Iroha didn’t care if everyone in the house heard her cry in that instant, because Yachiyo heard it and drove her hips harder in short, steady thrusts. They fit perfectly together. Her whole world was just the scorching meld of their flesh as Iroha tried to keep that steady rhythm with Yachiyo and it was already falling off-kilter, into instinct, into sheer need for any kind of contact.

“Yachiyo, Yachiyo, you’re amazing,” Iroha gasped between wet moans, all of her burning with that truth, and with every word Yachiyo went faster– “–come down–”

Yachiyo just about pounced on her, their bodies meeting fully in heat. It was all she could do to whip her leg around Yachiyo’s waist and keep her firm against her pussy, it was all she could do to keep her mouth moving blindly against Yachiyo’s crushing kiss, and soon she was a sheer mess of sensation. There was the dry grind of the fabric abrading her skin. There was Yachiyo’s wet and sloppy cunt against hers and the point of her sharp clit sliding to crush the soft flesh into the hard bone behind it. There was slapping and crashing and rubbing and fucking and need, a searing, desperate search, their wetness thoroughly mingled and soaking. 

The hot coil in her cunt was unbearable, and she was so _close_ , even when their clits slipped and Yachiyo dove her hand back between them to spread them back open and together. It was Yachiyo, though, who was getting needy and whiny and bouncy and impatient, so Iroha cupped her cheek and murmured incoherent encouragement, grazed her lips up Yachiyo’s cheek; Iroha took Yachiyo’s earlobe through her teeth again and Yachiyo’s moans took on a very different tenor as she was gripping, thrusting and rubbing, with no reason to it beyond sheer, hungry need and pleasure - and after seconds Iroha was no longer capable of thinking anything but _she deserves it, she deserves it,_ her pussy clenching, the pressure building, oh, _she deserves it–_

She just had the sense to silence Yachiyo’s cry into her mouth, and the shudder that rocked through her body was enough to make Iroha come, too, wringing entire handfuls of Yachiyo’s blouse into her fists.

Iroha came to her senses first, the room darker now, the sun long gone. Yachiyo needed to bask in their hot embrace longer, so she brushed her fingers through her hair with a gentle sigh. The most acknowledgment Yachiyo gave was pushing her face into Iroha’s cheek.

She was beautiful. She was kind. Iroha wanted her to never fall apart - unless it was like _that._

Yachiyo shifted. Iroha took it as an invitation to roll Yachiyo onto her back, and fished her leg around on the bed to find Yachiyo’s panties, reeled them in, and gently slid it back between Yachiyo’s legs, snug against her pussy. Wet and sticky and messy - exactly as she wanted it. She gave Yachiyo a pat on her stomach. “Come on, senpai. We can't be late to class.”

Yachiyo wasn’t one to blush. But she certainly was now. Iroha had to pull her arms off her face to kiss Yachiyo’s twisted-up mouth, which folded into a gentle smile against Iroha’s insistence.

Another round seemed out of the question for Yachiyo. Instead, they lingered like that, their faces across from each other, breathing each other in. Iroha could have lied like that, forever, willing the world to stop, up until the moment her stomach growled.

“There we go,” Yachiyo said, poking Iroha’s nose. “Dinner must be almost here.”

“I’ll wait for you. It’ll taste better if we eat it together.”

“It does, doesn’t it? Even Banbanzai.” Yachiyo moved to get herself back up. “Let’s make this our bath?”

“Yes, of course.”

It somehow felt less charged to take _off_ their uniforms, even with them helping each other. Iroha at least had extra sets of her uniform, but still folded up her blouse by habit before realizing it was quite unnecessary. She held it up in front of her face. “I’ll have to make sure these last a long, long time,” she teased. “I get the feeling we’re going to use them a lot.” 

“Iroha,” Yachiyo grumbled.

“I really liked that,” Iroha said to be clear. And there was some odd, primal satisfaction in knowing the truth of what Yahiyo was imagining every time she had seen Iroha go off to school. “What does it do for you, by the way?”

“I don’t...know.” Yachiyo pulled the long-sleeved shirt over her head. “Like I said, it’s...memories. But even without them, I think it’s a very flattering uniform.”

Iroha grinned. “You’re a menace.”

Yachiyo glowered - playfully, Iroha was sure. “I only want to be a menace to you, but I can’t even manage that.”

“I’m happy, though. I think kindness suits you much better.”

“Guys!” Felicia bellowed from downstairs, clearly audible even through the door. “What are you waiting for? Banbanzai’s here!”

Iroha got up to crack open the door, and called, “Thank you! We’ll be down after we take our baths.”

“What the hel- _heck’s_ taking you guys so long, anyway?”

“We just got off track. Memories.”

“Boring!”

“Iroha?” Ui asked. “Can we keep playing a little more?”

There was a weight in her that was finally unburdened itself - however slight. “Sure, but you’ll have to catch us up when we come down, alright?”

“Score! C’mon, Ui! But hey,” Felicia shouted, “you guys can’t touch the pork buns, okay?! The two of us are calling dibs on ‘em for lunch!”

“We won’t, promise!”

She heard Felicia and Ui scamper away, and poked her head out the doorway, just to be sure. “It sounds like our supper will get cold,” Yachiyo said behind her.

“We can just reheat it.”

“I guess it won’t make much of a difference either way.”

Iroha turned to swat her, only to find Yachiyo wrapping them both up in a long towel, holding in her a soft, naked embrace. There was something about it - innocent, gentle. Though her eyes were still sticky. Who knew what would happen next between now and the bath?

There was still thudding from downstairs. Another monster to fight, more Banbanzai dishes to swap and share, secrets for those four to whisper out of earshot of them both. And there were still more things for her and Yachiyo to uncover. They’d return downstairs soon enough, everyone back to each other’s sides, the two of them back to being Mikazuki’s protectors. That would always be the case. For now, though, she eyed the bathroom at the end of the hall.

“Should we make a break for it?” Yachiyo asked.

“Yes. Let’s.”

The look on Yachiyo’s face, entirely new to her, was a joy that sang in Iroha’s heart as well.


End file.
